Whispered Secrets of a September Night
by Things-One-and-Two
Summary: In Answer to a Challenge: The night before Elizabeth returns to her lessons, and Will to his work, they decide to do something... big before they grow apart. A bottle of rum opens up old wounds, and welcomes a new relationship... WE


**Disclaimer: I own nothing... shocker, I know...**

**Author's Notes: This is just a bit of a cutesy, yet still dramatic (but not overpoweringly so) one-shot I wrote while I was on a bit of a dry spot with my other story, and I loved the idea so much I needed to do something about it. This is in answer to a challenge, which states:**

_**What if, when they were younger, Will and Elizabeth got drunk and shared a few secrets with each other one night? First and foremost, Elizabeth has to come up with the idea while Will has to sneak the bottle of rum from Mr. Brown. Then anything goes. They then wake up the next morning and don't remember a thing.**_

**Credit to PirateAngel1286 for the idea. Here's my rendition!**

**Enjoy!****

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Whispered Secrets of a September Night

**By: MJ**

"I don't want to start lessons again tomorrow," Elizabeth whined, falling backwards in the sand and staring up at the bright blue sky. Her companion chuckled, and she tossed one of her slippers at him, which only caused the older boy to laugh a little harder. "It's not funny! And it's not fair… why don't you have to take lessons?"

"Because I am a humble blacksmith's apprentice," Will Turner said, standing up and walking a bit towards the sea. He turned back towards her with a cheeky grin. "Thank you very much," he bowed, causing her to sit up and giggle. "I still have to work from dawn to dusk every day except Sunday… then I have to go to church and be a good little boy."

"We're hardly little anymore," Elizabeth said, reaching out a hand. He took it and helped her to her feet.

"What do you mean, Liz?" He asked her, confused.

"Well… You're sixteen, and I just turned fourteen—we're nearly adults!" She said, laughing. He rolled his eyes at her.

"Oh… Yes, adults, something we should strive to become," he said, motioning wildly with his arms. "Paperwork and parties with people who have no clue what they're talking about," he extended his elbow and she interlocked her arm with his. He began to walk her down the beach, "longer days at the smithy with no more pay then I'm making now," he looked down at her, and noticed she had a mischievous smile on her face, "and no more beach walks with the governor's daughter," he said, sounding as if he was in pain.

"Because I'll have so many gentlemen suitors at my door that I'll be in corsets until I'm at least thirty," she exaggerated, and he smiled.

"I bet you'll be married before you're twenty-five," he said, and she made a gagging noise.

"Hang that!" She exclaimed. "I don't want to get married. At least not to someone who will expect me to wear a corset," she shook her head, "if you must marry me, you must love me for being myself. Even if I do get a bit fat, and dowdy." Will snorted and she batted his arm. "It's not funny!"

"Yes, it is," he said, still laughing, "because you and I both know you could never be fat or dowdy. Well, you could get fat, but you'd still be beautiful."

"Will Turner!" She shrieked, and he smiled, happy that she was at least ignoring his slip up, and instead focused on the fact that he stated she could become fat. She calmed down a bit with a faint blush to her cheeks. He looked away. "Well, there would also be those horrible governor's balls, and then dinners with the Captain…"

"Oh, God help you," Will said dramatically. Elizabeth laughed. "Well, I'd probably have to go out of my way to find myself a proper wife, which would mean I'd probably have to cut my hair." He said, pulling slightly at his long, curly locks, pulled back into a tiny ponytail.

"Mine will have to be longer," she said, pushing her shoulder-length curls behind her. "And I can't go out in the sun anymore; being tan is unfashionable."

"Spare me, I'll be lucky if I see the light of day!"

"You know what else we could do when we're adults, William?" She said, stopping their walk for a moment. He turned and looked down into her fiery brown eyes. He knew that look.

"What?" He hesitated to ask. She laughed.

"We could… drink alcohol!" She giggled, but stopped at the look that crossed his face.

"Mr. Brown," he stumbled, looking almost afraid, "he-he--"

"He—what, Will?" She asked, confused. He sighed.

"Mr. Brown says alcohol makes a smart man dumb and a dumb man brave," he said, and Elizabeth furrowed her brows, confused. _So his master doesn't want him to drink, understandable… why does he seem so scared? _She thought as he continued, "He tells me stories about dumb men who drank too much and got themselves killed."

"Well, you're a smart man, Will," she said, still confused as to why he was so adamant against the drinking. "And you don't have to get drunk! You could… have a bit of scotch after supper when everyone retires into the parlor, or-or you could drink wine with your supper, or—or drink rum like a pirate on a bad day!"

"Pirates, Liz?" He chuckled, and she smiled; she was glad she got his mind off of Mr. Brown and his awkward drinking lesson. "C'mon, now, rum is probably the most vile thing ever created!"

"Really, Will? Have you tried it?" She asked, her eyes sparkling. He looked at her and smiled. He puffed out his chest a bit, and took on this air of self-importance.

"Perhaps," he said smugly. She 'swooned'.

"Oh, and what was it like?"

"It was awful!" He said, and she hung onto his arm, as if she was hanging on to every word he uttered. "It burned down your throat and left an awful feeling in your stomach…"

"Yeah?"

"Yes! It gives you headaches in the morning, and makes you upchuck all day," he said, but then he looked at her and flashed her a grin. "Of course, that's what happened to everyone else," he looked out and stood up straighter. "I can handle my alcohol."

"Of course you could!" Elizabeth gasped, smiling. "Oh, William…" She said, looking into his eyes. "I bet you could get us some."

"What?" He choked on the word, stopping his little game with her. He looked further into her eyes and took a step back when she realized he was serious. "Oh, come off it, Lizzie… It wouldn't be proper!"

"Will, tomorrow I have lessons, and you have to go back to work," she said quickly, the plan unveiling in her mind. "When this school-year is over, I'll be fifteen! I'll… I'll have to start looking for a beau! I'll be all grown up, and I'll look back at this summer with you as the last thing I ever did as a child!" She said, trying to sound rational, but failing miserably by the excitement in her voice. "I want it to be a summer I'll always remember! This would be the perfect ending to this perfect summer!"

"Getting drunk?" Will asked stupidly. She shook her head.

"Not… drunk, exactly, perhaps just a bit tipsy, is all…" She reasoned. "That way I won't be having headaches or upchucking all day," she looked at him teasingly, "not all of us can hold our liquor half as well as you can, Mister Turner."

"I… I don't know, Lizzie," he said, sounding nervous. He looked away from her; he ran his hand through his hair, and she smiled, placing a hand on his face briefly. It sent shivers down his spine and brought his eyes to hers.

"C'mon, Will… please?" She said, sticking out her lower lip in an adorable pout. He sighed.

"What if we get caught?"

"We won't! I'll go right home and tell my father I'm feeling ill," she said quietly, looking around as it all came to her again. "I'll retire for the night, and tell Estrella to keep him out of my room for the night; say I caught a fever, or something and it's _dreadfully_ contagious," she said, looking up at him. "You steal a bottle of rum from the town pub, and meet me beneath my window. I'll climb down that…fence-thing with all those flowers," she said, looking quite excited. "We'll go to the smithy, and stay up all night drinking rum and telling stories!" She looked up at him. "Oh, Will! It's perfect!"

"You're mad!" He said, but knew in his heart there was nothing he wanted more than some extra time with her. He sighed and looked away, before looking back up at her. "Fine. I'll meet you at your window at eight. Clear?"

"Perfectly."

* * *

"Will!" Elizabeth called in a hushed voice from her balcony. "Will, are you there?"

"Yes! Can you hurry? I don't think you're father's quite retired yet!" He called back moments later. In the vague moonlight she caught his shadow; he was standing next to the fence, and looking quite nervous.

"Did you get a bottle?"

Luckily, she hadn't heard his sigh. Of course, it hadn't been hard to find a bottle of the stuff; Brown keeps it nearly everywhere now. It hadn't always been like this, what with him drinking and Will filling the orders, but after his wife died little less than three months ago, that's all the old man ever seemed to do. He would get drunk and come to the smithy complaining of headaches. He'd upchuck all day into a pail, and when he wasn't doing that, he was cursing at Will for being too loud on the anvil (heaven forbid!). He shook his head and called back, "Yes, Liz! A promise is a promise, just hurry up!"

"Impatient, are we?" She sniffed, having difficulty making it down the veranda. Will had lent her a pair of his breeches for the night (after another half-hour long discussion of how she was going to sneak out of the house wearing nothing but her feeble chemise (she knew she wouldn't make it in her gown, and her night-gown was too sheer). He heard her gasp and he set the bottle down, running sneakily towards the house.

"Liz, are you alright?"

"My foot," she moaned.

"What about it?" He asked, looking up at her.

"It's… stuck."

He shoved a few fingers in his mouth to keep from laughing outright. "Wiggle it," he called up, moments later.

"I don't think I ca-a-a-a--!"

_Thump!_

"Oof!" Will grunted as Elizabeth fell on top of him. They had both hit the ground with a solid thud, but only Elizabeth seemed to have found it amusing. She rolled over so that they were staring at each other, stomach to stomach.

"Sorry," she whispered, her breath tickling his nose. He smiled.

"No… problem." He muttered, and she looked at him curiously.

"Will… Your face is turning red."

"Elizabeth… I can't breathe."

"Oh!" She said, her eyes widening. She rolled off of him and onto the grass next to him. "Sorry," she said, somewhat sheepishly.

"Do you think your father heard?"

"No, he's probably too busy with his paperwork," she said, giggling. She sat up and he did, and their eyes met. They both started laughing before Elizabeth abruptly stood. "Race you to the smithy—don't forget the rum!" She called in a hushed whisper, running towards the fence.

"No fair!" He whispered back, standing up. By that time, she had already squeezed through the wide spot in the bars (the one they had made two summers ago when Will wanted to visit Elizabeth). He took off after her, only stopping to grab the bottle of rum, still nestled in the grass.

He only spotted her a few times; she was running the main roads, while he took his favorite shortcuts. Both had to keep their giggles under wraps, for fear of alerting the whole town of their mischief. He was leaning against the door when Elizabeth finally got there. He looked up from his nails (where he had been gazing nonchalantly in a way that clearly said, 'Finally') and grinned. "Miss Swann," he cooed, extending his elbow. She accepted.

"Master Turner."

"Welcome, to your last night of your perfect summer," he said gaily, opening up the door to the smithy with a cheeky grin. She let go of his elbow to explore the smithy further, something she never got to do when she would visit. When her father picked up orders, she merely stood at the door, trying to behave as Will would often make faces behind his master's back.

"Won't Mr. Brown find us?" She asked curiously, looking around the bend as if expecting him to be there. Will shook his head.

"He still lives in his house," he shrugged, closing the door. He took off his coat and placed it on the chair. He shook the rum bottle, as if to catch her attention.

"And… you?"

"Me?" He asked, almost embarrassed. His cheeks took on a tint of pink that wasn't very becoming, yet Elizabeth still found it adorable. "You-you wouldn't want to see where I live…"

"Yes, I do!" Elizabeth said, coming to stand in front of him. She craned her neck to look up at him, but he wouldn't look at her. "Why can't you show me, Will?"

"It's… messy," he stammered. She placed a hand on his cheek and brought his eyes to hers.

"You obviously haven't seen my room," she joked, and he cracked a smile. "Please, Will…?"

"Fine," he grunted, setting the bottle down and grabbing her hand. A shock was sent down both of their spines, and he shivered. "It's… cold in here, isn't it?" He muttered, and she made an agreeable noise to signal she heard him and approved. He brought her to the back part of the smithy, where there was a small kitchenette, and a door. "This is it," he said in a voice barely above a whisper.

"You live in a kitchen?" She asked, a hint of playfulness to her voice. He rolled his eyes.

"No."

"Well, I asked you to show me your room… not your kitchen," she said smartly, and she smiled when she heard him chuckle lightly under his breath. He opened the door and pulled her inside. "I can't see."

"Let me light a candle or two," he said quickly, fumbling over to his bedside table. He lit a match, and then lit two candles. He handed one to Elizabeth and took one himself, lighting the rest of the candles in his humble room. She ran her hand on the spines of two books Will had on his desk.

"Shakespeare?" She questioned, looking up at him curiously. He blushed, which was hard for her to notice in the dimly lit room.

"A gift… From some upstanding lady in return for shoeing her horse," he said. "I haven't read them," he said, and she shrugged.

"I don't like him," she nodded, "everyone dies at the end. How completely unromantic."

"Yes, I'm sure," Will said, sitting on his mattress.

"This… is your bed?" She asked, sitting next to him. "Why, it's but a straw mat!"

"It… is more comfortable than you would think," he said.

"Will… why didn't Brown give you a real bed? Will--?" She looked at him. He sighed.

"This is why I didn't want to show you my room," he said, blowing out the candles quickly.

"Why, Will? It's… lovely," she attempted. He snorted.

"Don't lie, Elizabeth, it's entirely too unattractive for someone like you," he said, moving towards the door.

"Why didn't you want to show me your room?"

"Because… because I was embarrassed, alright?" He shouted, startling her. He sighed, and looked up at her apologetically. "You're… the governor's daughter… You're used to the finer things in life, like a feather mattress on a real bed frame, with the ropes pulled tight. My room is roughly the size of your closet, I suppose, and… and I didn't want you to stop seeing me just because I'm not… well… rich."

"Will Turner, what the hell is wrong with you?" His jaw dropped, hearing her swear like that. Jesus—she was only fourteen. "Why would I stop seeing you because you're not rich? Who do you think I am?!" She walked outside his room and around the bend of the kitchen. He closed the door and raced after her. When he caught up with her, she was standing on the table that normally displayed his swords (but was now empty) holding the bottle of rum in one hand and pointing at him with the other. "In fact, that's one of the reasons I _like_ you, Will," she uncorked the bottle and sniffed the liquid inside. "You… you are so… free, Will… you can do whatever you want, and money isn't… isn't a common topic in your conversations," she sat on the table and looked at him once over with a smug smile on her face. "You can actually _talk_, Will. You're not just speaking; you're _talking_. You're so… _real_, Will, and that, my friend," she said, raising the bottle towards him, "is the most attractive thing about you. Don't get caught up with money, it's entirely too unattractive for someone like you." She grinned, using his own words against him before she took a dainty sip of the rum. She gagged and coughed, wondering who in their right minds would drink it for _pleasure._ "This is so… vile, Will," she said, looking up at him to find that he honestly wasn't paying attention.

He was staring at her with a mixture of emotions on his face. The first was utter admiration for her, and the second… she didn't recognize. "Hello, Will? Will, are you still with me?"

"Ye-yes," he stammered, running a hand through his hair nervously. He blew out his candle and set it on the floor; the dying fire still in the hearth was enough light. He walked towards her and smiled. He took the bottle out of her hands and took a swig. He handed it back to her and wiped his mouth, "You're just not used to it."

"So you have drunk rum before," she grinned. He smiled.

"Once or twice, but only when Mister Brown wasn't lo—around," he said quickly, covering up, once more, his master's true problem. "He used to keep a bottle in the kitchen, until he noticed it was getting more and more… watery."

"You cad!" She giggled, taking a long swig. "You absolute cad—stealing your master's rum! You're lucky he didn't throw you out in the streets!"

"Like your father would do to you if he only knew what we were really up to," he said, laughing as well, taking a long swig.

"No, no, I just wouldn't see the light of day until… I died!" She smirked up at him, and he smiled at her. An awkward silence had fallen between them, neither exactly knowing what to say. Their eyes met and they immediately looked away; a blush rose on both their cheeks. "…Tell… tell me a story, Will," she asked him quietly, looking earnestly into his eyes.

"About… what?"

"Well… what happened to your parents? Did they die on the boat that day?" She whispered, an understanding sparkle to her eyes.

"No-no… My father's still alive, and my mother died of a fever when I was eight. I was on the ship to look for my father," he said softly, looking down at his shoes. She moved over on the table and he sat next to her. She passed him the rum, and he took a swig. "He… left us when I was but a babe," he said, looking at the bottle before he looked up, straight ahead of him with a hard look on his face, as if trying desperately not to cry. "To go… _sailing_. My mother said… A _sailor_."

"…Do you not think he was one?"

"I believe my father wanted to get out," he said bitterly, looking at her. "I believe my father wasn't ready to be a father, and he walked out… Left my mother, whom he supposedly 'loved'." Will smiled briefly before rolling his eyes and taking another swig; he looked away. She took the bottle from his hands, it lying idly in her hands. "If he loved her, why leave her? I say… Then I realized… he must not have loved me," he said quietly, still not able to look at her. She bit her lip, and moved tentatively closer to him. Inch by inch she moved cautiously, watching him closely. Finally, she set the bottle of rum down and hugged him to her, his head resting in the crook of her neck.

"That's not true," she whispered into his ear, stroking his hair softly. "I'm sure he loved you; people just make mistakes." She heard him sniff, and she furrowed her brows, worried. He sat up quickly and wiped at his face, turning away from her.

"Tell me… of… of your mother," he said, his voice quavering as he talked. It was her own turn to feel uncomfortable, but the look Will sent her made her positive she could confess her true feelings to him. He looked at her in such a way, that it sent a feeling through her body that she neither understood nor expected, but she knew she didn't want it to go away. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer, and she rested her head on his shoulder.

"She… she died in childbirth," she whispered. "I knew her briefly, though, she died when I was about six… I was to have a brother; Jonathon was to be his name. Jonathon Paul Swann… he… he died a few days later from an infection he picked up, they called it. He had been rather tiny, too… came a few months before he was due," she said, and Will held onto her stronger, cautiously taking his own hand to stroke her back in a comforting way.

"I held him in my arms," she said quietly, lifting the rum bottle to her lips. "God, he was so beautiful, Will… If we—I… if _I_ever have children… I want them to look that beautiful," she whispered, blushing at her slip up. She sat up suddenly and took another swig, looking at the bottle.

"We've drank half the bottle," he commented and she giggled.

"We have," she said, a smile on her lips. "Perhaps I will be upchucking tomorrow, but I don't think I'll mind… anything to get out of French…" she stopped when she saw the look on Will's face. "What's wrong?"

"I… I can't have anymore, Elizabeth."

"Oh, c'mon, Will… don't ruin this night now," she said softly, and he sighed.

"I… I don't want to be like Mr. Brown, Lizzie, please," he said, closing his eyes.

"What do you mean?" She said, almost dropping he bottle.

"Lizzie, he-he drinks… all the time… those swords—the ones I'm always bringing you--?" At her nod, he shouted, "I made them! Me!" He pointed at himself and stood up. "He-he comes back to the smithy at six in the morning—up all night drinking! —He pounds on my door 'William! William, get yer lazy arse outta bed, an' get'ta work!' he says. By the time I'm at the anvil, he's passed out in the corner amongst the bottles of rum," he pointed over towards said corner, unable to look her in the eye. "He normally wakes 'round noon for another bottle or so, and then at around seven he stumbles to the tavern…"

"Oh, Will…"

"That rum, right there," he pointed at the bottle Elizabeth held in her hand. "That-that is his! His rum, not the pub's, and not mine. He-he-he drives me to drink, Elizabeth!" He laughed, "Some days, I just come home and take a glass of the stuff to calm me down…"

"Has… has he ever… hit you… Will?" She asked timidly after a pause. He tensed, and she moaned, "Oh… oh, Will," she whispered, running towards him and hugging him. "Oh, Will… if only my father knew… he could help you…"

"There's no proof, Lizzie, there's nothing he can do," Will muttered bitterly, relaxing in her touch. "I'm in contract with him for another five years, Lizzie… Twenty-one, and I'll be free," he said, looking at her, determined. "Besides, I'm only sixteen… It's my word against his, and no one would trust me."

"I do, Will," she said, quietly, and he smiled. He kissed her forehead.

"And that's why I lo—why we're friends," he said, embarrassed.

"Will… you will never be like Brown, do you hear me? You are too nice of a person—too good of a man to ever let someone like him bring you down, so… please, just enjoy this night with me?" She asked, and he nodded. "One… one more question, Will," she said, and at his nod, she smiled, "Was-was that why you always wanted to come to my house when we were younger?"

"No… no, this started about a year ago, when his wife first got sick—he was flat out drunk when we received word she died," he said, bitter. His face softened… "I… I went to your house because… I was lonely."

"Oh, well," she said, stepping backwards. She lifted the bottle. "To us!" She said. He pretended to raise a glass, and she leaned back and chugged a bit. He handed it to her and he did the same.

* * *

About a half hour later, the effects of the alcohol had truly worn in. Elizabeth was giggly as she spoke to Will about fashion, pirates, and love, while Will was acting almost too masculine, attempting to woo her.

"Will!" She squealed as he grabbed at her, pulling her close to him. She sat on his lap as he sat on the floor of the smithy, his back to the wall. "Will, lemme go!"

"Never!" He shouted, and she giggled.

"Will… can I tell…. You a secret?" She asked, and he nodded. "I really want to meet a pirate some day."

"I know this already," Will said, pretending to be annoyed. She hit his arm.

"No! No! Listen!" She said, and he smiled. "I read about this amazing pirate—Jack Sparrow! He's infamous… he was able to sack an entire town without firing a shot! Do you realize how amazing it would be to meet a man like him?"

"No, I don't think I do, Lizzie, but I'm sure you're about to tell me…"

"Oh, hush!" She admonished playfully, spinning around in his lap. She pushed his shoulder. "Listen… did you know that I could do… this?" She asked. She winked at him and stood up, doing what he assumed would've been a graceful leap had she not been under the influence.

"No…" He said, shaking his head. She took a bow, and he applauded. "Did you know that sometimes, at night, I try to read Shakespeare?"

"No… What do you mean try--?" She asked, confused. He blushed.

"I can't read very well… my mum died before I ever went to school," he said quietly. Her jaw dropped.

"Well… I could teach you! Yeah—I'll teach you!" She decided, coming back and sitting in his lap. She faced him, and their eyes remained locked for a long, long moment, before she said, "Will… you and I should get married some day."

"What?" He choked, and she smiled.

"It makes perfect sense!"

"How?" He asked, staring back at her. She grinned.

"Well, everything you can't do, I can, and everything I can't do, you can… how can I say this, Will… together, we're like one amazing… person. We complete each other."

"You mean complement each other?" He asked.

"No, no, I meant complete," she giggled, and he sighed. "That, and I'm sure we would make beautiful children together."

"Oh? You do?" He asked, suprised at her revelation.

"Oh, yes, you are so mighty handsome, Will," she gushed; the alcohol having an effect on her that she couldn't quite stop the words from coming out of her mouth. "And, not to sound vain, but I am rather pretty myself, and the two of us…" She smiled, and he laughed.

"Lizzie, what am I going to do with you?" He said. It was then that both realized exactly how close they were. His hands were on the small of her back, and her arms were around his neck; their faces were inches from each other. "What… to do?" He whispered, looking briefly at her plump lips before looking back up into her eyes.

She seemed just as enamored as him, and before either knew what they were doing, their lips crashed together into a kiss. He pulled her closer into him, and he deepened the kiss. She was unskilled, it being her first time, but he seemed to know what he was doing. The fire of rum was burning both their lips as he stroked her hair. She attempted to keep up with his fervent lips, but to no avail. Frustrated, she pulled away.

"I'm sorry," he apologized immediately. "I… shouldn't of."

"Don't apologize, William," she whispered. "I should apologize… I'm absolute rubbish at this sort of thing."

"You're perfect, Lizzie… You've always been perfect."

"Oh, Will… will I even remember how wonderful that was?" she asked, looking into his eyes earnestly.

"I can… help you remember it a bit more," he whispered, and she giggled, their lips crashing together. It was still rather innocent, both of them being too young for it to be anything but. They pulled away, and Elizabeth grinned.

"I love you, William Turner," she whispered. He smiled.

"I love you, Elizabeth Swann," he said.

"No, I really mean it, too," she insisted. "Some girls… they just say that to feel special. I mean it, Will, I really, really love you. You are… so amazing, and handsome, and--"

"Elizabeth, love?" He said, and she looked up at him.

"Yes?"

"Shut up," he laughed, kissing her forehead as she smacked his arm.

"No, Will, I really, really mean it… and I want you to be my beau. Tomorrow morning I will march right up to my father and tell him of my decision."

"Will you now?" Will laughed at her determination.

"I will! I will say, 'Father! I will not wear another corset, I have found the man who I want to spend my whole life with…' It's honestly that simple," she shrugged, and he smiled.

"Well… I'm going to march up to Brown and say 'I want to do something more with my life instead of being bullied by you'. Then I'll leave… It's so simple!"

"Simple, simple, simple!" Elizabeth agreed. Will smiled.

"We should get married in London."

"No, Paris! No, Versailles—oh, Will, could we? It's so pretty there…" she said, excited. He smiled.

"Why not? Oh, Lizzie… As long as I'm with you, we could get married in… Russia… as long as I'm with you!"

"Oh, god, Will," she moaned, shaking her head.

"What?"

"_Russia_?"

"Oh, love, have a little fun, I was simply being dramatic!"

"All right, then…" she said, yawning. She snuggled closer to him and closed her eyes. He stroked his hair, continuing to talk until…

"Lizzie? Are you…?" His question was confirmed when a slight snore erupted from her lips. He kissed her head and nuzzled closer to her, closing his own eyes and falling asleep.

* * *

"William! William, ya dumb boy! Ya locked the door, an' I forgot meh key!"

The pounding on the door sounding like a stampede of elephants to the two teenagers as they were shaken out of their peaceful slumber.

"Will…" Elizabeth moaned. "Will… what time is it?"

"I dunno, but let's get out of here… my head hurts…"

"Where are we?" Elizabeth asked, looking for him. She shifted her position, and that's when she realized she was sitting on him. "Oh! Oh, gosh!" She got up quickly, embarrassed. "What—what happened?"

"I… I don't remember," Will said, horrified. "We… must've drank too much and fallen asleep."

"Oh, god, Will! My father's going to be furious!" She squeaked, and he groaned.

"Christ, Lizzie, hurry! Brown's going to… be upset if he knew you were here," he covered up quickly, and she was able to overlook it, not remembering a thing from the night before.

"I know… oh, shit, Will! My father…" she groaned, figuring it being a good moment to curse. "Oh, I don't feel so well…"

"William! Where th' hell are ya, ya lazy boy! Open this door this instant, or so help me God, I'll--"

"Go!" Will urged her, and she ran.

"Ouch!" She cursed.

"What?"

"I… tripped, on an empty rum bottle," she said, picking up the offending object. She looked at Will. "We drank all this?"

"I suppose so," Will chuckled, even in the severity of the moment. She giggled.

"Well, then, Master Turner," she curtsied. "Thank you for such a wonderful night."

"You are quite welcome, Miss Swann, and excuse me for being rude, but…"

"What, Will?" She asked curiously.

"GO!"

"Oh," she said sheepishly. "Sorry." And with that, she was out the back door, and out of his sight.

"William!"

"Coming, Mister Brown!" He said, groaning as the shouting made his blasting headache even worse. An unsettling feeling grew in his stomach and he sighed.

"Guess I can't hold my alcohol as well as I thought," he muttered, moving towards the door swiftly. He opened the door to the up roaring yelling of his Master. Even as his headache worsened, and he felt as though he was going to be sick, all he could think of was…

_What the hell happened last night?_

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